


Tenderly

by wonderwanda



Category: The Good Wife (TV)
Genre: F/F, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 01:42:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4121598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderwanda/pseuds/wonderwanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your eyes open wide, and close me inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tenderly

**Author's Note:**

> for the longest time I thought the lyrics to that jazz song Tenderly talked about eyes opening instead of arms. (Your eyes open wide / and close me inside.) It's probably my favorite misheard lyric. Here's a short four-parter inspired by the misunderstanding. Yay jazz?
> 
> Also, thanks as always to schwarmerei1 who puts up with beta-ing for me.

I. Your Eyes

 Everything is new to the Lawyer. The carpet feels fresh under her heels, each stride carrying the weight of her freedom. As she adjusts the collar of her blazer in the ladies’ room, her reflection vexes. Trying in vain to press the redness out of her cheeks, the Lawyer can’t shake the feeling they will be ablaze forever.

Pro-bono isn’t the worst phrase she could have heard. She decides to throw herself into her work regardless. She wants to be here. Should be here. Deserves to be here. The Lawyer knows everyone has an opinion about her, and is determined to prove them all wrong.

She notices the inquisitive gaze of the Investigator—the first that hasn’t written her off upon introduction. She sees the Investigator is trying to make heads or tails of her, and finds the curiosity delightfully mutual.

They decide to meet for a drink.  

II. Open Wide

It has been months and neither of them can articulate exactly what’s going on. With her boss, the Lawyer knows she’s trying to appease his sensibilities. With her husband, she knows they’re steering towards a Fata Morgana—keeping things together for lives that are not their own. The ship is afloat, but she is sinking.

The Investigator finds herself in a state of resistance.

She resists standing closer in the elevator.

She resists conversation that may be misinterpreted.

She resists more glasses of anything that may inhibit her self control.

She looks at each interaction as a test: if she can focus only on her work, (not the Lawyer’s hair, or how quickly her back would arch with a swift curl of fingers) she’s passed.

It isn’t miserable if it’s only a game.

They are here to discuss a case. They are here to discuss a case. They are _here_ to discuss a _case_.  

The Investigator lays applicables on the bar and the manila folders stare at her with disdain—as if they know how hard this is. She bites her lip in lieu of drinking. The Investigator is so focused on keeping things germane that she hasn’t noticed the Lawyer’s slammed down her shot, and is concentrating on everything but work.

“I think we need to—” Before she can finish, the Lawyer’s fingers are pressed to her temple, and their lips are touching.  The room swirls. The game isn’t miserable anymore—now that she’s winning.

III. And Close

Things have gotten serious. Now, the words ‘we need to talk about a case’ are code for ‘my apartment or yours’. (Though they usually end up at the Investigator’s, as there’s less possibility for distraction.)

The Lawyer debates. She debates alone in her bathroom; she debates while her boss is inside of her; she debates while they fight; she debates while wrapped in the Investigator’s sheets; she debates while wrapped in the Investigator.

“I picked up some Cab on the way home.” The Investigator takes out two glasses.

“Kalinda, we need to talk.”

Declarations follow, the Investigator stays solemn. She hears a word she wasn’t expecting: _Oh yeah? You weren’t so straight when you fluttered onto my chest after I kept you at the brink of climax for half an hour…_

The Lawyer wants to feel relieved, but doesn’t.

IV. Me Inside

The Lawyer is on her back, filled with him. It is as though she can’t refuse more helpings. She tries to convince herself he is nourishment, but she distends. She finally reaches the conclusion that orgasms feel good. Just good. Like a jolt of electricity running through her, at once releasing the tension she works so hard to bury. She sleeps well always—but in the morning she will wake empty.

Love is an interesting thought that she doesn’t entertain much. She awakes one morning to see him stretching his shoulders, wanting to lose herself in the folds of his deltoids. She stares at his bareness, hoping this is love. He doesn’t know she’s awake—futilely digging through him.  She catches his attention with a sigh: he has not passed this inspection.

The Investigator hears a light rap at her door. Company worries her when it’s not expected, she draws her gun and checks her peephole: the Lawyer is standing outside, her inevitability palpable. The Inspector opens the door and she walks in, defeated.  

It occurs to the Lawyer after entering that words are haphazard. She is haphazard. The Investigator begins, cursory:

“Did you leave something—?”

“I love you.”

It is unexpected. They are both surprised by it. The Lawyer because it spills out of her throat immoderately like vomit—though she isn’t filled with regret. The Investigator because she’s been filling the empty spaces in her bed with this hope that both of their bodies were filled with the same disquietude. She’d been trying to lull her heart with pragmatism, but this time was different. It felt impossible.

It isn’t as though they must mop pools of each other off of the floor now. Their combined relief withers the thickness between them as they take turns pulling the other back down to earth. The Investigator finds her nails combing through the Lawyer’s hair after they’ve untangled themselves. The Lawyer nests between the Investigator’s ribs, building their home with each shared breath.

_You took my lips, you took my love, so tenderly._

 


End file.
